Chapter 46 big test

It's Christmas in Detroit this week, but there seem to be more home-for-sale signs on fronts than twinkling strings of lights.People on the street don't buy much.Children were also warned not to expect too much from Santa Claus.Our generation's Great Depression is spreading, and we all feel it; we wear it on our faces. Reverend Henry's church was shrouded in darkness on Zumber Avenue.They couldn't afford the outdoor lighting, and if they didn't pull open the side door, they probably wouldn't even know anyone was in the church.I've never seen the place well lit.The interior can only be described as gloomy, as if the electricity is as old as its walls.

Talking to Cass that night pointed me in a direction to know Henry and talk to his congregation. For example, one of the church's white minority members, Dan, told me that a few years ago he was a homeless alcoholic who slept at night in a handball court on Belle Isle in Detroit.He drank a bottle of 750ml spirits and a dozen beers every day, until he passed out, woke up and drank it all over again.One cold night, when he came to the church, the door was closed.Henry sat in the car, saw Dan walking away, called him over, and asked him if he needed a place to live. He has no idea which onion I am.Dan told me: Maybe I'm a serial killer.In the end Dan lived in the church for thirty days straight and gave up drinking.

Another congregation, a little feisty woman named Shirley, remembered that there used to be twenty or thirty little children sleeping in Henry's little cabin every Friday night or Saturday afternoon.He called the small group the Peace Corps and taught them how to cook and played games with them, but mostly to make the kids feel safe.Xiuli was deeply inspired by Henry, so she also served as an elder in the church. A man named Freddy showed me a private room with a wooden bed on the third floor of the church where he lived.He said Henry gave him the room when he was homeless on the streets.A woman named LuAnn pointed out that Henry never charged for a funeral or wedding, always saying: The Lord will reward us.

Then there's Marlene, a beautiful woman with sad almond eyes who told me a brutal story of drug use and violence that ended with a confrontation with the man she lived with: he dragged her and her two-year-old son down bed, beat her, and pushed them down the stairs.The mother and son fell on an old wooden board with nails, and the son got a big gash on his forehead.The man forbade them to go to the hospital.He takes them as prisoners, ignoring them with blood streaming down their faces. Two days later, the man finally left the house.Marlene picked up her son and ran away, taking nothing but the clothes she was wearing.At the police station, a police officer called Henry and asked Henry to talk to Marlene on the phone.His tone sounded concerned and reassuring, so Marlene asked the police to take her to Henry's church, even though she had never seen him.Henry gave Marlene and her son hot food and a place to sleep and she has been worshiping at this church ever since.

It occurred to me that a Christian or Jewish church usually has a solid congregation base.Some will run schools, some will organize fellowship activities, and some will arrange singles networking, lecture series, festivals or fundraising activities; the insufficient funds are subsidized by annual fees. Siblings does not charge an annual fee, does not raise funds, and does not even have a singles club.Membership growth relies on the old-fashioned way: an urgent need for God. Still, the stories don't help Henry with his heating and bills.His Sunday services are still held in a plastic tent.Homeless people still spend long nights surrounded by the noise of fans, and they still have to wear their coats when they lie down to sleep.The early winter was bitterly cold, and the snow piled high on the steps in front of the church.

I have never written about religion in my newspaper articles, but I feel compelled to disclose these facts to the readers of the Detroit Free Press.I interviewed several homeless people, including a formerly good baseball player who had to have all ten toes amputated because of chilblains from sleeping in an abandoned car overnight. I sent these reports to the newspaper, but some factors still make me uneasy. So one evening, just before Christmas, I went to Henry's.He lived on the same street as the church.When he first arrived in Detroit sixteen years ago, he used the house as a mortgage and borrowed thirty thousand dollars.I'm afraid it's not worth that much money today.

The brick front of the house looked old and the front door was loose and about to fall down.The clearing where he once fed nearby residents was covered with ice, snow and mud.The shed where they store food is still there, covered with a net to keep the birds from stealing it. Henry sat on a short couch in the living room where Cass had slept for a year.He caught a cold on his head, felt a little unwell, and coughed a few times.His home is neat, but cold.The paint was peeling and the ceiling in the kitchen was half collapsed.He looked sadder than usual.Maybe it's the holidays.There are pictures of his children on the wall.Children obviously don't get too many Christmas presents this year.

Back in the drug days, if Henry wanted a TV, customers would trade it for drugs.Want jewelry?Want designer clothes?He didn't even have to step out the door. I asked him, when he joined the missionary business, did he ever imagine that he would one day be more prosperous than before? No.He said: "I think I should work for the poor. Yeah, I joked, but you don't have to imitate the poor. He glanced at the empty house and took a deep breath. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. how do I say this? He lowered his eyelids. Then he said something I will never forget. Mitch, I'm a very bad person.The bad things I have done in my life can never be undone.I have broken every commandment of the Ten Commandments.

Don't fool me.Every commandment? When I was young, in a sense, yes, I broke every commandment. theft?Perjury?Coveting other people's property? some. adultery. Um kill? I didn't pull the trigger myself, but I was involved enough.I could have stopped someone before they died, but I didn't, so I'm complicit in the murder. He looks away. It is a life-threatening industry, black people eat black people, and the weak eat the strong.The kind of life I live, a lot of people are killed, it happens every day. I hate the old me.I went to prison for a crime I didn't commit, but the things I did outside were enough to send me back to prison.I am cowardly and heartless.I may have changed today, but that's really who I used to be.

He sighed: That was me before. His chin dropped to his chest.I heard him breathing heavily, exhaling and inhaling. I deserve hell.He whispered, "For the bad things I've done, God should send me to hell."Do not mock God.What kind of cause, what kind of fruit. So I always tell my congregation, don't hold me up.In my sermons I talk about planting lemons and forgetting about cherries but how many lemons have I planted in my life Tears welled up in his eyes. I'm afraid I can't finish it. I don't understand, I say, if you think you'll be punished Why am I still serving God, eh?He smiled faintly: What else can I do?It was like all the people turned away, and Jesus asked his disciples: Do you want to leave too?Peter said, Where can I go, Lord?

I know what he means.Where can you go without God.He is everywhere. But, Henry, you've done so much good here wrong.He shook his head: You can't get to heaven just by working hard.As long as you try to prove your qualifications by merit, you are permanently disqualified.All I do here every day for the rest of my life is to say, Lord, let me make amends for whatever misery I am forever destined to face.I know that doing this doesn't take away the guilt.But let me do something with my life before I die He let out a long weary sigh. Then, Lord, I'm at your disposal. It was late and it was freezing cold.The room was shrouded in Henry's past.After a few minutes of silence, I stood up and zipped up my coat.I wished him well and walked back out into the snow. I thought I knew it all.I'm a smart guy capable of getting things done, and the higher I climb, the more I look down on things that seem stupid or innocent, and I turn my nose up at them.Even religion I despise. But driving home that night, I realized something: I'm not better or smarter than anyone else, I'm just luckier.I should be ashamed of being so pretentious, because a man who knows the whole world like the back of his hand can still get lost in it.So many people, no matter how bright and accomplished, are suffering, crying, longing, hurting.But instead of looking down on anything, they looked up.That's exactly the direction I should be looking.Because, when the world is quiet and only your own breathing is heard, everyone wants the same thing: comfort, love, and a peaceful heart. Maybe the first half of his life was worse than most people, maybe the second half of his life will be better than most people.That night was the last time I questioned Henry.Will Covington's yesterday cloud his tomorrow?The Bible says: Do not judge.Only God has the right to judge people, and Henry works hard every day for this.That's enough. ⑤ Belle Isle (Belle Isle) is an island in the Detroit River, which is connected to the urban area by a bridge. There are natural parks and various sports and leisure facilities on the island for citizens to engage in leisure activities.